


The Whirligig of Time Brings in His Revenges

by duckodeath



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: M/M, Specials 1 & 2: Rise of the Nutters - Spinners and Losers, TTOI levels of general offensiveness, TTOI levels of offensive language, TTOI levels of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-02 23:35:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckodeath/pseuds/duckodeath
Summary: Julius and Malcolm in the immediate aftermath ofRise of the Nutters/Spinners & Loserswith extra added (offscreen) Jamie and all the pre-canon Steve FlemingSex Offenderflashbacks that absolutely no one has ever asked for! Julius just wants to go home. Malcolm just wants to know what Julius is up to. There will be toast.





	The Whirligig of Time Brings in His Revenges

**Author's Note:**

> My earliest saved version of this story is five pages long and dated February 2010. Which means it's been a work in progress since well before the fourth series even aired -- and that was seven years ago. It's grown a lot since then, but frankly, if I don't start posting it now, I never will. It's not technically finished yet, but I will post in chapters to <strike>buy</strike> give myself a little more time. So a big shout out to the anon on my Tumblr (and also all the people who sent encouraging notes) who got me working on it again. I hope you don't regret it! 
> 
> Contains probably gratuitous (if not pretentious) references to _Twelfth Night_, possibly inconsistent Britishness (including London geography), definite comma abuse, Julius taking care of people (he can't help himself), flashback Steve Fleming being a perv, and lots and lots (and lots) of shouting. 
> 
> This is a two-hander, but because the story starts before _Spinners_ ends, Malcolm will be busy elsewhere for the first little bit. But don't worry, he can't stay away from Darling Julius anymore than Darling Julius can stay away from him.

_When that I was and a little tiny boy,_  
_With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,_  
_A foolish thing was but a toy,_  
_For the rain it raineth every day._  


Twelfth Night, V, i, 411-415

**Friday, 5th January, 2007, 5:13 am**

"-which is what I'll do to them until you'll wish fucking _Mummy_ had never shat you out you COCKLESS SPECCY GOBSHITE! And _then_ I'll take the fucking-"

A final surge of speed sent Julius hurtling through Richmond Terrace's last set of doors and down the stone steps to the street, cutting off the furious bellow mid-threat. Poised at the edge of the pavement, scalp flushed, hands trembling, chest heaving, every fibre of his being concentrated on the blank doorway, he waited...

Had he escaped? Or was James still behind him, brandishing an enormous wedge of cheese with who knew what evil intentions, planning on extending his humiliating chase through the streets of Westminster itself? 

Julius absolutely would _not_ put it past him. A long minute with no movement or sound except the pounding of his racing heart echoing in his head and the almost subliminal whoosh of early morning traffic on Parliament Street just a few yards away on the other side of the guard arches.

Nothing. No sign of James. Malcolm must have called him to heel. He was free. A feeling of relief, certainly, but also a sudden painful _burning_ awareness of the utterly ridiculous position he was in, standing alone in an adrenaline-fuelled haze outside a thoroughly respectable government building in the misty pre-dawn January chill.

Julius was a senior government advisor, a man who - until the previous evening at least - had the ear of the prime minister himself. _The ungrateful lying_\-- no, no, no! He stopped himself. Forced himself to unclench his fists. Forced his mind away from every disappointing person and experience he'd had in the last twenty-four hours and to the immediate future. Recriminations could wait until he got home. Until he was sitting at his desk, his diary in front of him. Oh yes, he would be making a few _very interesting_ additions in the very near future. Oh yes, indeed. 

But hold on - back up! How could he get home? His mac and briefcase were both still trapped within Richmond Terrace. His keys were in his briefcase. His wallet was in his briefcase. His BlackBerry - he put his hand to his jacket pocket where he usually kept it with his pass and found only his pass there. Of course, he could picture it clearly now, sitting on the conference table where he'd placed it early in the evening to keep it near to hand. He could see it right next to his last (mushrooms carefully extracted) half-consumed piece of pizza. The anger rose again: how foolish of him not to anticipate being chased out of his place of business by Malcolm's attack dog. How foolish of him not to keep an escape kit on himself at all times.

Of course, now he could not go back into Richmond Terrace to retrieve any of his own possessions. _Thank you, James. Thank you, Malcolm._ What could he do? No, it was all right. He had his pass. He kept spare sets of keys back at the AIU. With his pass, he could get into the AIU. He could retrieve his keys. He could get his car and leave this awful place and these awful people who had no respect for other people's clothing or property. Or other people's legacy projects.

He looked at the sky - would it rain? Yes, on top of everything else, it seemed certain rain was imminent. If his suit was not to suffer any more indignities he would have to hurry, but at least at the end, he would be safe in his own AIU sanctuary until he could go home and put this terrible night behind him. 

***

The mantel clock in his office next door chimed _Westminster Quarters_ a full second behind the faint sound of bells from the clock tower half a mile away. An icy, rainy breeze came through the open windows in refreshing contrast to the almost overwhelming heat blasting through the radiators. In a remote corner of Julius's mind his _inner man_ \-- that impartial part of Julius's subconscious that absorbed and stored every interesting piece of data in his vicinity and was always hungry for more: more facts, more data, more figures -- noted his clock needed correction and tucked the thought away, ready to be retrieved at a more opportune moment.

Julius's physical body sat in the chair of his personal human resource, Francis, a refuge from the madhouse that was the Downing Street press office. He was sitting behind Francis's desk, but he had not yet searched through the drawers for his keys. Instead, Julius sat with the chair swivelled around the other way. The wet cold air from the open window felt wonderful against his overheated face and head. Overheated first from exertion as he covered the distance from Richmond Terrace to the AIU in only twelve minutes and then from sheer frustration as he spent almost as long trying to find someone to let him into the building when the guard who was _supposed_ to be stationed at the main door proved himself conspicuous by his absence. 

So thank goodness for the cleaners and their conscientious attention to duty who, at least, _were_ where they were supposed to be. And thank goodness also for his own meticulous attention to detail that meant he _always_ kept his pass on his person no matter what. Without it how could he have proved his identity to the cleaners? What would he have done if they hadn't let him into the building as they left for the night? With no money and no identifying credentials would he have had to wait on the street for his staff to arrive? Even in the hypothetical, the thought was excruciating.

Clearly, he wasn't in any way humiliated about having to prove his identity to cleaners. Because why would he be? They were important human resources too. The inefficiency of the guard did not bother him either. It didn't. He was undoubtedly on a tea break and no man knew better the siren call of a steaming hot cup of tea and biscuits than Julius. So there was nothing to be bothered about there either. He was in his building now. He was safe. Malcolm and James couldn't get to him here. Malcolm hadn't succeeded in making him look a complete fool in front of his subordinates. That's why he wasn't thinking about it and it wasn't bothering him.

No, it wasn't bothering him at all. That's why he was looking out of the window watching a tree some distance away on the grounds of the car park behind the building and not being bothered about anything. The streetlights illuminated the branches waving in the rain and wind and watching it he could finally let his mind float free, far, far, far away. He had only meant to sit down for the length of time it took to find his keys on their neatly labelled fobs, but once seated he was overcome by weariness, all adrenaline gone, and it was much easier just to sit looking out the window without moving. 

He was _not_ thinking. He was _not_ remembering the humiliation provoked by James and Malcolm and their associated ruffians. He was _not_ reliving the last moments in the conference room over and over again as he grappled with James while the others hooted and shouted (_EAT THE CHEESE!_) like wild animals. No, He was just sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a hot damp building, looking at waving branches amidst gentle rainfall and breathing slowly. In and out. In and out. Watching the branches waving in the wind and breathing. Not thinking or remembering. Just watching and breathing. Just watching and breathing. Just watching and breathing. With every breath, his eyelids grew heavier and it was much easier to let them fall than to keep watching. He didn't need to watch _and_ breathe. As long as he just kept breathing. Just kept breathing. Just breathing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The AIU building is, as per Malcolm at the very end of 105, the old DoSa building from before they became DoSac and got moved to the governing mall. So the offices of the AIU are the very same ones you see Hugh and Co. in from 101-105. Which certainly made certain things a lot easier for me.  
2\. Francis, Julius's personal human resource, is otherwise known as Frankie the harassed Press Room guy from 104 who was sent out to check the bins (and who was also seen at Hugh's bash in 105 where he (poor guy) identifies himself to Hugh as "Ollie's mate"). I figure the thrill of being manhandled -- but in a bad way* -- by Jamie might well wear off after a time and the AIU would certainly offer a much calmer working environment with access to much better <strike>biscuits</strike> parties. Plus, of course, Julius would be _very_ happy to have a Press Room insider working for him since the Press Room must be the one threshold of Number 10 that he dare not cross. 
> 
> *see 104 deleted scenes


End file.
